


a sunbeam coming down

by milkdaze (flowerstems)



Series: seasons change & people hope [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 09:39:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7217272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerstems/pseuds/milkdaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s funny. He knows, logically (as though that’s not as abstract as the concept of time), he should not be like this. Every desire to own and monopolise a person is wrong and selfish in a twisted way and he should <i>bury it like he’s buried so many things</i> but it is so hard to fight it.The first time they met what they had was little more than a passing fancy, they’d thought it was a passing fancy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a sunbeam coming down

It’s been a long day. Rather, it feels as though it’s been a long day, but that could be exhaustion talking and making him think things that are just plain wrong. It doesn’t feel wrong, though. Either way, it’s Wednesday, the middle of the week, and nothing can make that feel okay. There are very few things that can make him feel a little okay and right now he’s ready to tear even that apart.

 

It’s funny how thoroughly everyone has been brainwashed to believe that the idealistic, romanticised version of things is the way things are supposed to be. The perfect way. The _only_ way. Reality isn’t romantic. It’s realistic on good days.

 

All that hardly makes a difference to the universe or the world, let alone one very tired man. He’s so _tired_ all the time now. Everyone says it’s because he doesn’t rest, doesn’t sleep. Even Oliver has begun saying that. Oliver. Oliver who knows damn well that Barry tries to sleep, he really fucking does; Oliver should know because they spend just about every night wrapped up in each other, as wide awake as each other. Why does Oliver tell him to sleep again?

 

Because it’s the right thing to do.

 

You know what else is the right thing to do? You come straight home after midnight. If you need to stop somewhere to do something you call. Or text. Or fucking send a messenger, who gives a damn what you do just let me know. Is that too much to ask?

 

He just stopped to help a friend and it’s easy to believe. The only problem is the kind of friends he has—can you honestly say there is one you haven’t slept with?

 

What about you? Anyone you haven’t kissed or crushed on yourself?

 

They have a good thing going, a really good thing. You put me first and I’ll be your one and only. I’ll put you first and you’ll be my one and only.

 

Barry doesn’t sleep with anyone else, more out of personal preference than a desire to uphold fidelity, and because he’s too focused on Oliver. Oliver doesn’t sleep around because he’s too busy sleeping with Barry, but Barry wouldn’t give a damn as long as Oliver loved him the best.

 

These days Barry doesn’t feel like Oliver loves him the best. It really rubs his nerves raw. He knows, logically (as though that’s not as abstract as the concept of time), he should not be like this. Every desire to own and monopolise a person is wrong and selfish in a twisted way and he should _bury it like he’s buried so many things,_ but it is so hard to fight it. Especially when Oliver doesn’t mind, especially when Oliver is the same in his own way, especially when Oliver lets him do it without ever asking why. The hardest question to answer is always _why?_

 

It’s funny. The first time they met what they had was little more than a passing fancy, they’d thought it was a passing fancy. Until Oliver started getting possessive; he didn’t want to see Barry holding someone else, couldn’t bear the thought that Barry could kiss someone else or fuck someone else and suddenly Barry felt the same, but it was different somewhere in the middle. One morning he woke up beside Oliver and he suddenly thought: I’ll hurt anyone you put above me.

 

He terrified himself then and spent a long while staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, checking the span of his body for tendrils or gouges in his skin that something wicked could have used to make his body its home, checking his eyes as though they’d turn black or white and prove he wasn’t exactly himself. One too many movies, Barry; nothing ever happens. He doesn’t meet Oliver for weeks after that.

 

And so, for the first time, Oliver meets him. Doing that was a big risk—everyone could find out, it would ruin their careers, their reputations, and Barry wanted that to happen for a moment—a risk Oliver kept taking and keeps taking. Before they even realised it whenever Oliver says jump Barry says how high and whenever Barry says stay Oliver drops his keys and drops his phone and stays.

 

Barry doesn’t know what you call a setup like this, a relationship like this, but he remembers Caitlin saying something about it being unhealthy. Barry wonders which part, specifically. Does she mean the manipulation? The control? The lashing out and the crying and the staying? Does she mean the way Oliver demands all Barry’s attention and affection, the way he does extensive background checks on anyone Barry talks to more than three times a week? Does she mean the way Barry wants to monopolise all Oliver’s time and freedom, the way he needs to know what Oliver was doing before he arrived, what he’s going to do when he leaves, what he’s thinking or wanting at any given moment?

 

Well, Caitlin doesn’t know all those details. Maybe she meant situations like this one. Situations that consist of Oliver getting back late after spending the night in someone else’s house and Barry wanting to strangle Oliver but holding his hands instead, trying to keep it inside even though he knows Oliver can see right through him. They’re both tired, but it’s strangely relaxing to know you don’t have to lie, not really, around someone who sort-of knows you inside-out. Barry wonders if Oliver feels the same. _Of course he does, why wouldn’t he?_

 

Oliver holds Barry’s forearms and nuzzles the crook of his neck, breathes in deep and there’s only the scent of Barry. Of course. If Barry did the same he wonders if he’ll smell Oliver or someone else. Instead, he takes one of Oliver’s hands, flips it over to bite at the palm and he tastes nothing but soap, smells no one but Oliver, but he still can’t believe it. Oliver breathes out an apology into the skin of Barry’s neck and Barry hums, irritation lingering only because he remembers he’s supposed to be irritated—it’s hard to stay angry when the taste of Oliver’s honesty sticks to his tongue. If Oliver were lying his hand wouldn’t taste only of soap. Still, Barry wants to doubt, scepticism is an important quality for a scientist to keep.

 

“Who stays over at a friend’s house until 3AM just to help them?”

 

“Me. I do. It really was nothing.”

 

“You have to prove it.”

 

This argument happens so often Barry can almost guess what Oliver will say next, but every once in a while Oliver does this weird thing: at the last moment, he does something he’s never done before. Tonight, instead of storming out or self-destructing as he usually would, he rolls his neck, eyes rolling as well and Barry knows it’s meant to irritate him more,  and groans, “I thought scientists can only support or disprove things?”

 

It’s the little things that get to you. “Smarter than you look,” Barry grins, smile betraying the bitter chant in his head,” then you better hope no one can disprove your hypothesis.”

 

“It’s not a hypothesis, I’m being honest with you.”

 

Barry pulls his arm from Oliver’s hold and tugs his tie off, fingers curling into the lapels of Oliver’s suit. “Show me.” Oliver understands, of course. Barry isn’t deluding himself when he thinks they’ve become strange down to the marrow when it comes to each other. That’s good. Call him whatever you want but he likes the thought.

 

Oliver strips off his jacket and shirt so Barry can run his hands over his skin and feel for scratches and bite marks that aren’t his—this is one of the many reasons having good memory is such a treat. There aren’t any unfamiliar marks and when Barry brings his hands to rest on Oliver’s waist, the skin hot under his hands despite the air conditioning, Oliver just watches him. That’s the weird thing about Oliver, he never seems to mind when Barry presses his cold fingers wherever he pleases, sure he flinches, hisses every now and then, but otherwise he just lets Barry poke and poke at him. It’s weird. Barry likes it.

 

“Lucky you, tonight you’re clean.” Barry hums, pressing himself against Oliver and resting his head on his shoulder as though his warmth will make up for the goosebumps spreading over Oliver’s skin. Still, Oliver doesn’t seem to mind. Weirdo, he’s so cool, sometimes Barry wants to crawl into his body and be him.

 

“Like I’ve been saying,” Oliver scoffs. Barry just hums and hugs him tighter; even if he scoffs and loses cool points because he shouldn’t be capable of being so childish—sometimes Barry forgets Oliver is capable of the entire emotional spectrum because he capitalises on being sulky—Barry still likes him, still has the urge to creep into Oliver’s bones and make a home there. That means he’ll have every bit of Oliver to himself, as his, that sounds great. “Make it up to me.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You hurt my feelings?”

 

Barry laughs, the sound loud because he’s so close to Oliver, and the way Oliver jumps just makes him laugh even more. “When’s the last time you made it up to me for hurting my feelings?”

 

“Didn’t I just do that?”

 

Oh, right. Barry picks up Oliver’s shirt, drapes it over his shoulders, and Oliver groans but pulls the shirt on properly, doing a few buttons before dropping himself on the couch and, wait for it. Oliver rolls onto his stomach then looks at Barry with an expression coded to mean he’s sulking so Barry walks over and pats his ass before lying halfway on both Oliver and the couch, hugging him lazily and smoothing his fingers through Oliver’s hair.

 

“I’ll make it up to you later, I promise, but right now I’m tired from thinking you cheated on me.”

 

“Really.”

 

Barry can hear the disbelief even if Oliver’s voice is muffled and Barry jams his elbow awkwardly into Oliver’s side. There’s a pained hiss and, satisfied with it, Barry goes back to lounging on Oliver. “I am.” He slides his free hand under Oliver’s shirt and draws zigzags and spirals on the small of Oliver’s back with his fingertips, “Aren’t you tired?”

 

“Hurt and tired.”

 

“Poor baby,” Barry teases. “Tomorrow we’ll go out. I’ll show you something cool I’ve been working on.”

 

Oliver tries to turn with little success. “And what if we get caught? You’ll be screwed.”

 

“Good. I want to,” and it’s true, Barry does, but Oliver makes an annoyed sound and Barry sighs. “Don’t worry, we’ll be sneaky.”

 

“You suck at being sneaky.”

 

“So do you, but we’ll figure something out.”

 

“If you say so.”

 

Look at that, they worked out their differences and came to an agreement. Barry almost wishes Caitlin could see how easily they worked out this disagreement, doesn’t it call for celebration? Though he gets the feeling she wouldn’t exactly agree. He dips his head to scrape his teeth along the soft skin between Oliver’s nape and his shoulder, grinning at the stifled laugh. Barry doesn’t know why he thought Oliver had fallen asleep.

 

“You should sleep,” Oliver says eventually. It was only a matter of time.

 

“So should you,” Barry replies instead of going on the defensive. He feels too tired bother.

 

Somehow that gets Oliver quiet. Everything’s quiet until the birds start chirping and Barry wonders what will go wrong today. Around dawn, Oliver starts wriggling under him and when Barry gets up to let him move Oliver turns onto his back then pulls Barry onto him again. “So. What’s this thing you’ve been working on?”

 

Barry grins and it’s a morning like any other, except they both ache from laying on the couch instead of the bed, the bruises are only from the night before, not counting the one Barry idly bit into the junction of Oliver's nape and shoulder, and they aren’t upset with each other. Some days are just different. “You’re not going to have any idea what it is, and what if we get caught?”

 

“Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> should've been for the day 2 prompt of olivarryweek2016 but my late ass couldn't write it in time. i misread jealousy/protectiveness as jealousy/possessiveness and i still probably butchered the prompt lol. i don't know why i'm allowed to write or what this is. title from audio boys' only man.


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